


Take me home

by basinnit



Series: 100 days of writing challenge [26]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Confession, Crying, Explicit Language, First Kisses, Fluff, Getting Over a Crush, Getting Together, Heartbreak, M/M, Making Out, Mentions of Sexual Content, Mentions of alcohol, No Volleyball, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, past miya atsumu/kita shinsuke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basinnit/pseuds/basinnit
Summary: Turns out, Miya Atsumu never did a good thing in his life – his love was one-sided. And so, he was running away, hoping to meet some friendly people, take a bunch of pretty pictures and get over Kita Shinsuke.In which Miya Atsumu is an exchange student in Italy, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is the only one knowing Japanese, forced to take care of the new student.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: 100 days of writing challenge [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798981
Comments: 38
Kudos: 473
Collections: ~SakuAtsu~





	Take me home

**Author's Note:**

> *slides in*
> 
> So, hello. Writing this was hell, let me tell you about it. It took me WEEKS, I'm not even joking, but in the end - I love this piece. It's cool and long, I like it. 
> 
> The dialogues in cursive are in Italian, and yes, if you're wondering, I picked Italy only because I thought Sakusa speaking Italian would be so fucking hot, bye.
> 
> day 029: collide

The voice from the speakers brought all of them down onto the ground, crashing them into the concrete and realization it was the time to bid their goodbyes. Atsumu inhaled shakily, focusing only on his twin for a bunch of brief minutes. Osamu was doing his best to look tough, acting as if the airport, the big suitcase behind Atsumu and the ticket he was holding in his hand wasn’t the cause of his lack of focus. 

“Call me when ya get there, kay?” He said, a lot softer and smaller than he intended. His eyes were wandering on Atsumu’s body, and both of them knew he was doing a mental check if Atsumu had everything he needed with him. He seemed more worried than Atsumu himself, yet no one could blame him for that. He was letting Atsumu go into the big, scary world, staying in Japan all alone with a seven hours difference between the person he was the closest to.

Despite the way Atsumu was joking around since he got accepted into the exchange program, he alone was a bundle of nerves. The thought of living alone, without Osamu on the other side of the wall was terrifying, yet Japan felt suffocating. He was sure if he stayed for just one day longer, he would strangle himself to death to avoid the awkward conversations, longing stares, and pity in the eyes of the man he loved. 

“Just a reminder, ya said ya wouldn’t miss me,” He couldn’t help but say, dropping the usual bite he had in his voice. Osamu shook his head at him fondly, placed a hand on his shoulder, and tugged him close to hug him. They stayed like that for a while, and when they moved away, Atsumu forced himself to wear his usual grin. It helped to calm Osamu down just a little, judging by the way he bit his bottom lip to stop a chuckle escaping from his mouth. The tension in Atsumu’s shoulders eased a little.

“I’m just worried ya will get yerself killed out there.” Osamu shrugged, pushing him away to their friends to stop Atsumu from talking. He rolled his eyes, a little laugh shaking through his chest. Despite his words, he knew damn well Osamu was going to miss him. They were twins, after all.

“Take care, Atsumu.” Suna smiled at him softly, bringing him in for a short and a little awkward hug. Atsumu appreciated the gesture and his presence with them, even if the voice at the back of his head was reminding him he was there more for Osamu. Good, Osamu would need a shoulder to cry into after Atsumu would place his ass in the plane. 

“Please, don’t do anything stupid there,” Said Kita when Atsumu finally stood in front of him, and the blond’s heart clenched. He had to do it; he thought as he once again forced the grin on his lips.

“I can’t promise anything, Kita-san.” He winked and exhaled in relief as the lady spoke from the speakers again. Thank you, he prayed in his mind, any god that’s up there, thank you for allowing me to avoid hugging the man that I love. 

He moved away quickly, not sparing Kita another glance, and he gripped his suitcase, casting his friends a wave of his hand as he walked towards the gate. 

He was leaving Japan, his twin brother, friends, and first love. He was going to Italy, ready to suffer for twenty-two hours in a metal prison just to get rid of the tugging weight in his chest. 

He started taking pictures when he was five. At first, they were shitty, yet had a soul that even years later made him smile fondly at the photos from an old camera his father owned that time. Most of his first pictures were of Osamu. There was one of Osamu on his first, red bike, grinning at the camera with one tooth missing and mud on his cheek. The picture was blurry because Atsumu was laughing, yet Osamu still had it in his wallet. 

There was a picture of Osamu holding a frog in his hands, a mocking smile on his lips as if he was trying to tell Atsumu he was better at catching them, even after all these years. There was one with Atsumu standing in the rain, a yellow raincoat falling from his shoulders as he jumped into the puddle in their yard. There was one taken by their mother, on the first day of primary school, both of the twins standing proudly in their uniforms.

As they got older, the pictures got better. There were pictures of Osamu with his first girlfriend, of Atsumu painting something for school, of Osamu just standing there and looking like a model. Atsumu remembers that one well, the first one that made his breath hitch, and he yelled at Osamu to stop moving for a second. He stood a little awkwardly, but it was the first time Atsumu thought the light was amazing, the colors were vibrant, and he needed to take a photo of that.

There were pictures of Aran in their living room, playing video games with them. There were pictures of Suna, sprawled across their couch, his hand full of popcorn as he watched the movie, ignoring the rest of the idiots. Aran and Suna appeared in a lot of Atsumu’s pictures, along with Osamu and himself. Every single image Atsumu did was the evidence of their friendship over the years.

There were pictures of Hinata, the kid that stole Atsumu’s breath during one summer. There was Oikawa, who looked amazing on every shot, and Goshiki - a series of photos displaying Goshiki reading something, hearing a click of the camera, moving his head up and smiling fondly at Atsumu.

There were pictures of Kita, and it was embarrassing to admit that  _ most  _ of his older pictures were of him. “You’re painfully obvious,” Osamu told him when he asked Kita to stay still again. The quiet click of his camera was the only response Osamu got. 

Kita Shinsuke was a beautiful individual, the only human able to stop Miya Atsumu from doing anything dumb. Falling in love with him felt so natural as if Atsumu was supposed to do it since the day he was born, which, in Osamu’s words, was complete and utter bullshit. 

It turns out, Atsumu never did a good thing in his life, because his love was one-sided. And of fucking course, Kita was too good to cut him off, look at him weirdly, and forget about his existence. Instead, he smiled fondly, turned him down gently, and stayed his friend, which hurt way too fucking hard. 

And so, Miya Atsumu was running away, hoping no annoying kids or sneezing people would sit next to him during his flight. 

He wasn’t a big fan of flying, and as he buckled his seatbelt and inhaled shakily, the thoughts about what could go wrong during the flight flood his head, leaving him tense and worried. Despite that, he tried his best to calm himself down and trust the captain to get them safely to their stop.

A couple of hours into the flight and he relaxed enough to reach into his backpack and fish out his headphones, scrolling through his Spotify for a playlist Osamu made for his trips. The playlist was long, having more than three hundred songs that were supposed to keep him occupied during the journey. 

He kept his headphones on when they were boarding, exhaled with relief as his feet met with the solid ground again, and got himself ready for yet another flight, this time straight to Rome. It was fine. He was fine.

He applied for the exchange program spontaneously. He always knew he was impulsive and he didn’t think much about it when he signed his name under the list and left the class, only realizing what he had done when he laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and a thought he didn’t even know Italian.

He spent the next ten fucking months learning the language like it was the only thing important at that moment. When Osamu asked about it, he simply dropped “Well, there’s a possibility I could be moving to Italy next year,” and then focused again on learning how to say, “My cat is named Michael Angelo.” Or something. For a long time, he didn’t even believe he could get in until he was holding a piece of paper with his name on it, a plane ticket, and the address of the Rome University of Fine Arts. 

His goal? Get as many stunning pictures as he could, meet some friendly people, and  _ get over Kita Shinsuke.  _ Yeah, that much he should be able to do.

As he walked off the plane in Rome, he thanked his past self for all the nights and energy drinks he spent studying his ass off, to the point where he was reciting pizza recipes in Italian while sleeping. (“Would you shut the fuck up,” Osamu yelled, throwing his pillow at him. Atsumu woke up startled, mid asking the waitress about where he could use the toilet). 

Even if he wasn’t perfect, he was sure he could communicate, and during a full academic year, he would polish his language skills even more. 

Despite being so fucking tired from the trip, he let himself dwell on how different Rome felt from Hyougo and Tokyo. It was stunning, louder, and brighter. 

He took a cab to the university’s buildings. He needed to let them know he was safe and alive, register in the council’s office, and get his dorm keys before he could drop dead onto his new bed. 

“Miya Atsumu?” The woman behind the counter asked with a weird accent. He stopped himself from scowling, reminding himself he would have to get used to it. He pressed his lips together and nodded his head, letting her speak. “ _ Is it okay if I talk in Italian _ ?” She said slowly, looking at him from behind her glasses.

“ _ Yes ma’am, I believe I’m quite fluent in it. _ ” He said only, wishing she would hurry up just a little.

“ _ We assigned you a student who knows Japanese so you can feel more comfortable. He’s supposed to pick you up tomorrow morning and show you around the campus _ .” She said, typing something down onto the computer. Then, she reached towards one of the drawers and placed a small key on the counter. “ _ It’s to your room. Your roommate is really nice, his name is Enzo and he’s the same age as you. _ ”

He nodded his head again, forcing his brain to work for a little longer. They chatted for a while, Atsumu humming at the quick introduction of the place from the woman. She was lovely, and when he was leaving, she reminded him he could come to her with all his problems.

He left with a smile.

The dorm room was nice. It looked a little different from Atsumu’s place back in Japan, but he could get used to it. Two desks, two wardrobes, and two beds, the room almost split in half between him and Enzo. The air smelled of paint.

“ _ Hi _ .” He said quickly, closing the door behind him. Enzo stood up from the bed and greeted him with a  _ hug.  _

They talked for a while, and Atsumu could already feel himself warming up to his roommate. Enzo was shorter than him, smaller in posture too, and the way he was smiling brightly and talking loudly reminded him of Hinata. He helped him set up some of his stuff and change the sheets, then promised to show him around the city whenever Atsumu wanted.

“ _ What’s his name _ ?” Enzo asked after Atsumu mentioned the student who was supposed to take care of him, dropping onto the chair and bringing his legs up to his chest. 

“ _ I believe it was Sakusa Kiyoomi? _ ” said Atsumu, furrowing his brows just slightly. The name sounded Japanese, so it wasn’t a big surprise he was able to speak his mother language.

“ _ Oh! Sakusa… I think he paints? I saw him in a couple of my classes. He’s not exactly a social butterfly, but I heard he can be nice when he wants to. Good luck with keeping up with him. _ ”

Atsumu nodded and drifted onto his side of the room, dropping onto the bed and fishing his phone out of his pocket. He connected to the internet and dialed Osamu’s number.

“I was hoping ya would be dead by now,” was the first thing Osamu said after picking up. Jokes on him, he answered after two signals, which meant he was waiting for Atsumu to call. His voice was teasing, covering the excitement and anxiety he must have felt. Atsumu rolled his eyes, switching his brain back to Japanese.

“Ya wish, fucker,” He started, noticing the way Enzo snapped his head towards him, hearing him speak. “I’m all safe and cozy here. The room is nice, the dude I live with is like Hinata, and I have someone to bother from tomorrow on.” 

“What d’ya mean?”

“They assigned a guy to me? As a babysitter, ya know? It seems fun.”

Osamu laughed on the other side of the line, and Atsumu could only imagine the way he was throwing his head back, his body shaking with him. He smiled fondly at that, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Don’t make the poor dude’s life living hell, Tsumu.”

He grinned.

“Can’t promise ya shit.”

He talked and talked with Osamu until all the exhaustion finally kicked in, and he hung up with a teasing promise to call him next week. He quickly asked Enzo about the bathrooms, dragged himself there, and soon he fell face-down onto the bed, immediately falling asleep with an unsaid wish of Sakusa Kiyoomi not being a dick or a freak waking up before the sun did.

  
  
  


Sakusa Kiyoomi  _ was  _ a dick. It was 6:30 AM when Atsumu was woken up by loud, annoying knocks onto the door. To his surprise, Enzo didn’t seem phased by it at all, mumbling something softly and turning around, pressing his face into his pillow. Atsumu stood up, bringing his hand to his eyes to force them into working, as he moved across the room (stumbling over his legs twice), snatching the door open.

“What the fuck do ya want?” He asked in Japanese, clearly not conscious enough to remember he was in Italy. He was met with silence that made him groan and blink rapidly, still trying to wake the fuck up.

There stood a guy taller than him, definitely Asian and looking like it wasn’t six fucking AM on Sunday. The guy was dressed head to toe in black clothes with little yellow accents that looked fucking amazing on him. He wore a thin turtleneck with a shirt thrown on it, black with a yellow outline of flowers, black pants hugging his slim and  _ long  _ legs nicely.

Atsumu blinked.

“Miya Atsumu?” The guy asked, voice deep and almost bored as he stared down at him, judging him with those dark, deep eyes.

Okay, so maybe Atsumu was suddenly and very brutally reminded he was still in his pajamas, an oversized t-shirt with an onigiri (the shirt being very much Osamu’s, but that’s not the point here) and the first part of shorts he grabbed from his suitcase. And his hair was probably a mess.

Cool.

“ _ That’s me. _ ” He responded in Italian, which made the guy he guessed was Sakusa Kiyoomi, roll his eyes. Before Atsumu could register what was happening, the tall and very attractive, insane fucker was walking past him and staring with disgust at his unmade bed.

Great.

“What are you looking at? Get your ass ready, I need to show you around,” He said, casting Atsumu a short and cold glance. Okay, so it  _ was  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi, speaking perfect Japanese and looking fresh out of the runway. 

Somebody fucking save him. 

It took him embarrassingly long to get ready and admit he looked somehow acceptable, yet as he walked into the room again and was met with a sight of Sakusa doing nothing and just being gorgeous, he felt himself scowl. For his credit, he threw on a pair of his best jeans that hugged the curve of his ass perfectly, a white shirt with a caramel sweater hanging lowly on his shoulders. 

At least his hair looked nice, styled slightly to the side, and covering his forehead sweetly, he thought. Then, just to confirm his thoughts, he paid attention to Sakusa’s hair, and he felt his self-esteem fall down the stairs from the tenth floor and break its neck.

On top of Sakusa’s head was a mop of perfect, black curls, parted at the side, falling over one of his eyebrows, exposing his forehead in such an ideal way Atsumu felt like a trash bag.

“I’m ready,” he stated calmly, moving the stuff he was carrying in his hands to its places. He tried to sound confident, pressing the thought he looked like a homeless man just five minutes before to the back of his head. Sakusa studied his outfit, moving his eyes across Atsumu’s figure so slowly he felt himself flush red under that careful stare.

Then, Sakusa stood up from the chair and walked past Atsumu, not sparing him another glance. “Let’s go,” he said only, already walking out of the door.

Don’t get him wrong, Atsumu was rather tall. Over the years, he got pretty confident in his legs that weren’t  _ short  _ and weren’t  _ sticks.  _ His thighs were slightly muscular, and together with how good his back part felt in those jeans, he felt like a demigod. Well, not next to Sakusa because even  _ tall  _ Atsumu had to almost run next to him. Stupid long and perfect legs.

The bored tone of voice never disappeared as they walked down the hallways, the taller male barely giving Atsumu time to catch up. He talked way too fast, skipping a lot of details, and walking quickly to get over with it. By the time they stopped somewhere for longer, Atsumu was gasping for air, and he didn’t have a single fuck where the hell they were.

So yeah, Sakusa Kiyoomi was a dick.

And his voice was really fucking attractive even at six AM in the morning on Sunday.

Later that day, when the sun was already going down, and he finally placed all his clothes in the wardrobe, stomach full from the meal he had with Enzo (who showed him around Rome), he dug his phone out and started furiously typing on his phone.

**me**

Oi, Osamu

**wombmate**

what? do you fucking miss me already?

**me**

you wish, fucker

the guy came at six fucking AM

and he’s a total dick

i want to make him fucking suffer

just saying

  
  


When classes started, Atsumu took it as a point of his honor to annoy the living shit out of Sakusa. Between and after classes, he made sure to stick to his side, talk in an annoyingly sing-song voice, call him stupid nicknames like “Omi-kun,” meet all of his friends, and remember his schedule. He forced Sakusa to go out and eat with him and walked into his dorm without invitation. He even made sure to become friends with Luca, Sakusa’s roommate. It was an easy task, considering the fact Atsumu and Luca were in the same department, and soon they were doing group assignments together, obviously in Sakusa’s dorm room. 

Italy was nice. All the people he met or saw on the streets seemed so alive, warm, and loud. Atsumu enjoyed being outside, sitting back in silence, and just watching, taking in the way Italians were talking loudly with their whole bodies, gesturing with their hands, emotions worn on a sleeve. The way every Rome street pulsed with life and energy had his fingers itch for his camera. Yet, he only allowed himself to do it when he was with Enzo or Luca, refusing to give Sakusa the satisfaction of knowing he was passionate about something else than being a pain in Sakusa’s ass.

Italy was a new card for him. No one there knew the Atsumu from Japan, with the weight of Osamu, Suna, Aran, or Kita on his shoulders. No one knew the embarrassing stories from his childhood and all Kita’s pictures he had under his bed. In Italy, he was the Atsumu that wore Jeans whenever he walked to, annoyed Sakusa Kiyoomi, and bleached his hair with the cheapest bleach in the store. People knew him for his pictures, the energy he had when he worked with models, the best grades he was getting on his assignments. 

It wasn’t home, it wasn’t his room back in Japan, it wasn’t Osamu calling him for breakfast every morning, but the way he was allowed to be a completely different person made him feel so fucking free it felt like he was high.

“You were supposed to study, Miya,” Sakusa mumbled, glaring at him from Atsumu’s bed. Somewhere along the way of annoying each other, they created a habit of spending time with each other during the evenings, with Sakusa inviting himself over, sitting on Atsumu’s bed and sketching, holding his pends in his hands in a way that could quickly end Atsumu’s life. He was sure if Sakusa wanted, he could’ve stabbed him with those pens, yet he never did, and the blond considered it a big success. Enzo and Sakusa were getting along really well, and with the amount of time Enzo was spending outside painting, it was nice to have someone over.

“I’ve been studying for the past hour, Omi-kun. Cut the crap, lemme rest for a second,” He whined from his chair, spinning around like a little kid. Sakusa shook his head at him and went back to the sketch he was making, letting Atsumu do nothing.

Five minutes later, his phone rang, and he stopped abruptly, picking it up and groaning at the sight of Osamu calling him on facetime. He looked like shit.

“What d’ya fucking want, bitch,” he said, staring at his phone and griping it with one of his hands, the other trying to fix his hair just a little. Osamu scowled at him and rolled his eyes.

“Take the stick out of yer ass; yer fucking friends missed ya, ya little shit. Be nice.” His twin said, and Atsumu dropped the phone onto the desk, running out of the chair to put something more appropriate onto himself. Sakusa followed him with his eyes as he threw a clean shirt onto himself and once again fixed his hair in the mirror, sighing at the realization it wouldn’t become better.

“Okay, hoe, who d’ya have there?” He asked, dropping onto the chair once again and taking the phone into his hand once more. He didn’t need to look towards Kiyoomi to know one of his eyebrows was raised at him in silent question, yet he ignored him.

“Shut up, is Enzo there? I wanted to say hi.” Osamu mumbled, and Atsumu raised one of his hands to show him his middle finger.

“Sorry to break it to ya, brother, but Enzo knows I’m the better Miya twin in the family.” 

“You have a twin?” Sakusa asked from the bed, a small, amused smile on his lips. That beautiful fucker.

“Yup,” he said, popping his lips at that “wanna see the worse Miya?” 

It took Kiyoomi a second to shimmy out of his sheets and another one before he was standing over Atsumu, bending slightly to wave at Osamu in the camera. Osamu waved back, yelling a small “hi” at him that made Sakusa smirk.

“No way he’s the worse one, Miya. You’re a fucking disaster, and your twin seems nice.”

The blond rolled his eyes and pushed Sakusa away, who went back onto the bed, laughing sweetly. When he finally placed his beautiful ass on Atsumu’s sheets again, he put the sketchbook onto his lap but continued to watch Atsumu with curiosity.

“Who d’ya have there, Samu?” Atsumu repeated the question, trying to find himself a comfortable position on the way too small chair.

“Suna’s here,” Osamu started, and Atsumu rolled his eyes.

“I don’t give a fuck about yer boyfriend, gimme my friends, whore,” Osamu hissed at him, and he heard Sakusa chuckle softly from the bed. Great, that was a win. 

Someone took the phone out of Osamu’s hands, and soon Atsumu was facing Aran, who was smiling at him fondly. He was close with Aran, and during his weeks in Italy, they texted quite a lot, never having the time and opportunity to talk.

“Oh, hello, look who we have here! How is it goin’?” He asked, grinning widely and focused on listening to Aran talk about volleyball. After high school, he went pro, and Atsumu couldn’t help the fond warmth in his chest as he heard him talk about his teammates. He asked questions, answered some of Aran’s own, and soon the phone was passed to Ren. He repeated the same pattern, yelled his lungs out at Michinari, and then almost cried because he missed Heisuke so much.

“Don’t do anything stupid there, okay, Atsumu-san?” Heisuke called, causing Atsumu to stick his tongue out at him. The phone was being passed over again, and Atsumu felt his heart skip a beat.

“Atsumu,” Kita said, slowly and softly, angling the phone better so Atsumu could see his face. He looked beautiful under the shitty light, with his brown eyes fond and his pretty hair falling onto his face. Suddenly Atsumu was once again reminded why he fell for that man.

“Kita-san,” He said weakly, tearing his eyes away from the phone. His heart was beating fast on his chest, and he felt his head spin. He needed to look away from Shinsuke before he would say something stupid.

His eyes met Sakusa’s own, who seemed just a little bit concerned by the tone of his voice.

Atsumu felt even worse.

“How’s Italy? Are you taking care of yourself?” Kita asked. Of course he did, being the angel he was. Kita was an angel, and Atsumu was a coward with a crush on him, unable to get over it.

“It’s… uh, warm. I’m good — eating, sleeping, breathing, and studying when I have to. Nothing out of usual,” Atsumu choked out, eyes wandering everywhere but the phone and Sakusa, who was still boring his eyes into his skull.

“That’s good to hear… I’m sorry to say it, I know I shouldn’t, but it’s been boring without you here.”

Before he had the opportunity to break down in front of the man he loved, beg him to stop or love him back, hung up and throw himself from the window Sakusa was jumping off the bed and taking the phone away from his hand, angling it so even if Atsumu tried to, he wouldn’t reach it.

“I just want to say,” He started, wearing a sly grin on his lips. “I admire all of you for being able to live with this bitch for so long. I have known him for a month, and I already planned his death more times than it’s considered sane.”

Some of the guys laughed from the other side, gathering around the phone so all of them could talk to Sakusa. Atsumu furrowed his brows, looking up at Kiyoomi from his chair.

“Omi-omi, I don’t want to break it to ya, but I don’t think if ya ever think of killing someone yer considered sane.” He felt his shoulders ease a little at the relieved glance Sakusa sent him.

“Sakusa-kun, I beg you, strangle him to death there,” Osamu pleaded, causing Kiyoomi to giggle.

Right, Atsumu wasn’t in Japan. He was far away, safe in the warmth of his dorm room with Sakusa’s sketchbook on his bed, Enzo’s clothes in the corner of the room, and fresh air coming from the open window.

The pressure in his chest eased a little.

  
  
  


Sakusa’s art was terrific. That much Atsumu could assume even without seeing it with his eyes, they were in the Rome University of Fine Arts after all. Yet, as he stood in Sakusa’s room with Luca on his side, a big canvas covered in paints leaning against the wall made him speechless. As he walked closer, he could see the structure of the paint. Each stroke of the brush was careful and planned. There was no place for mistakes in Sakusa’s paintings. He saw Sakusa sketch people, landscapes, dead nature, and animals. He held excellent knowledge about anatomy and perspective, making his paintings look almost like pictures. There were also pieces in his style, screaming with every inch, “I’m Sakusa’s.” Whenever he watched Sakusa draw or paint, his fingers were quivering for the camera. 

“ _ Come on! _ ” Luca whined, shaking Atsumu’s arm repeatedly. Sakusa walked past them, not sparing them a glance, shuffling around his part of the room in search of paints.

“ _ No way, I’m busy. _ ”

“ _ Kiyo! Come on; I will fail if I don’t do it. I don’t know anyone who would do it better than the two of you _ .”

That seemed to make Sakusa stop, look at them, and sigh with resignation. His arms fell to his side, and as Atsumu looked at him, he couldn’t help but think at that moment Sakusa looked like a kicked puppy.

“ _ Fucking fine. You own me a big one for that, Luca. _ ” The black-haired male mumbled, turning his focus to Atsumu the second after. “I will break your neck if you piss me off during it, idiot.”

Atsumu grinned.

“Piss ya off? I would never do something like that.”

Luca moved his eyes between the two of them in confusion, slapping Atsumu’s arm and walking away with a rushed “ _ I never know if you’re insulting each other or flirting when you talk in Japanese.” _

  
  


The next couple of days were filled with Sakusa always on edge, snapping on both of them at most random moments. He sketched and sketched, randomly bursting into Atsumu’s room to inspect his skin and try various paints on it, groaning in frustration or nodding his head in satisfaction. When both Sakusa and Luca were satisfied with the sketch of Rome at night (“ _ Isn’t it a little simple?”  _ Atsumu asked, leaning over Sakusa’s shoulder. “ _ Not if we use fluorescent paint, Miya.” _ )

That’s how the same weekend, Atsumu ended up eating his breakfast in the middle of Sakusa’s room, standing in the middle awkwardly and following the taller male with his eyes. Sakusa was getting the place ready for the session of painting, dismissing Luca’s complaints about how the smell of paint will stay in the room for the next ten fucking days.

“Stop standing like an idiot and take your clothes off, Miya.”

Don’t get him wrong, Atsumu wasn’t dumb, not really. It was just, sometimes, he was talking before thinking, the words leaving his mouth before he could even register what he was saying.

“I was hoping you would ask me that under different circumstances but fine, Omi.”

Sakusa stopped and glared at him, bringing his hand up to tug at his hair with frustration, cursing him in both Japanese and Italian under his nose. Luca was watching them with visible amusement as if he wanted to say “that was flirting,” yet seeing how irritated Sakusa looked, both of them decided to stay quiet and stop pissing him off. 

He undressed, wrapping the sheets Sakusa handed him around his bottom half and sat where he was supposed to, stretching his back and moving his head around. He knew the process of painting was going to take long, and he was mentally preparing himself for hours of not moving from his spot.

“Try laughing, turning, or flirting with me, and I’m going to kick you out of here. Naked. I’m not joking, Miya.”

The whole set up of Sakusa’s working place was comfortable. Kiyoomi was sitting behind him, two chairs placed on the floor covered with old, dirty sheets covered with dried paints Sakusa was using. In the background, Luca put up some music, shuffling his playlist, and then focusing on setting his part up a little. 

The world seemed to stop around the two of them when Sakusa sat behind him and touched his back with his fingertips. Atsumu tried not to shiver, letting his eyes fall closed. Suddenly a wave of heat came rushing over him, with those chocolate eyes watching every inch of his skin, the gentle touch of Kiyoomi’s fingers.

“You have a bunch of beauty marks there, Miya,” He heard Sakusa say, a little breathless, softer and quieter than usual, matching the touch on his back. Atsumu had to fight the urge to arch his back into those careful hands, biting his lip hard.

“I do. Osamu has the same ones. Kinda freaky if ya think about it.” He explained, and the painter chuckled behind him.

It felt weird to have Sakusa observe him. It felt strange to have Sakusa so close yet so far away from him, painting on his skin as if Atsumu was the most crucial canvas Sakusa ever had. He was gentle, soft, and careful, and somehow it reminded him of the way he fell for Kita, back in Japan when he was younger.

With the cold paint on his skin, Sakusa’s body behind him, and the music Luca was playing, he recalled all the little things that made him want to cherish Kita, make sure Shinsuke always knew how important to Atsumu he was. He remembered all the smiles he exchanged with Kita, all the times he felt so high on love, begging for Kita’s attention.

When he recalled Shinsuke’s smile in front of his eyes, the image bright in his mind, his head wasn’t spinning anymore.

His breath hitched at the realization he didn’t feel the familiar tug in his chest, and his mouth wasn’t dry like it always was at the thought of Shinsuke. 

He sat there, itching to arch his back into Sakusa’s hands with countless what-ifs in his head.

What if he loves Kiyoomi and what if he loved him back. What if they kissed in the morning and Sakusa was coming to his room because he missed him. What if the pictures of Kita he had under his bed in Japan were replaced with countless memories of Kiyoomi. What if he lets himself fall hard and fast, bring his camera up to his eyes to save every little smile on Sakusa’s lips, the way he frowns or looks at something gently.

The whole process of painting took Sakusa just as long as Atsumu thought it would. He spent most of the time thinking, not moving, and not teasing the painter like usual. 

“ _ Luca, take my phone and call Gianni to buy us some food, I’m fucking starving, _ ” Sakusa ordered when the clock hit three PM. Atsumu’s stomach growled in agreement embarrassingly loud, making him flush red on the face.

Gianni was Sakusa’s best friend. She was a lovely, tiny girl that was always smeared with paint. She reminded Atsumu of Goshiki back in Japan, the way she was a little shy and smiling so brightly, stealing the sun’s job. 

“Okay, Miya. Stand up and walk around a little, I don’t want you to pass out here,” Kiyoomi mumbled, dropping his brushes and stretching his own back.

Somehow, he looked gorgeous like that, in the middle of his room, covered in paint, with pencils and brushes sticking up from every pocket he had. He wore an oversized, white shirt that exposed a little of his collarbones and dark sweatpants hanging loosely from his hips. It was probably one of the few times when he saw Sakusa wearing something different from all black. Atsumu watched him fondly before he stepped closer, and his hand jerked up to clean the little bit of paint Kiyoomi had on his face.

Both of them froze at the realization, watching each other with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, Atsumu’s hand on Sakusa’s cheek, thumb moving across the smooth skin.

“Sorry. Ya were dirty there, Omi,” He explained weakly, letting his arm fall down his side.

“It’s fine,” Sakusa sounded weirdly choked up, unable to move for a couple more minutes. He only went back to normal after Luca threw his shoe at him. 

Atsumu’s heart was beating way too fast for his good. 

  
  
  


It took him three months in Italy before seeing Kita over the phone stopped making him want to end his entire fucking existence. He could proudly say he got over Shinsuke, yet the price he had to pay for that made him wish to fall head over heels for him again.

Sakusa was sprawled over in his bed, leaning on his elbows, a sleepy look on his face as he blinked down at Atsumu slowly.

“What are you doing down there?” He asked, voice deep and still rough from sleep, looking at Atsumu, who was sitting on the floor, sending daggers with his eyes into his direction. The subtle light of the moon made Atsumu look even angrier. 

“Ya pushed me off my fucking bed, bitch,” the blond whisper-yelled, trying to keep his voice quiet enough not to wake Enzo up. (Honestly, he doubted anything could wake him up, but better safe than sorry)

“Really? I didn’t mean to,” Sakusa mumbled, shimmying in the sheets to move over and make some space for Atsumu again. On Atsumu’s bed.

He was staying over because Gianni was coming to Luca, and as Sakusa said, he didn’t want to listen to his best friends fuck in  _ his  _ room. That’s how Atsumu ended up on the floor at three AM, with Sakusa watching him sleepily.

If Atsumu weren’t pissed the fuck off, he would dwell over how adorable Kiyoomi looked like that, eyes falling closed, dark curls messy, and covering his forehead. 

“Get on the bed, Miya. I want to go back to sleep.” 

Both of them knew if they were going to lay side-by-side again, Atsumu would end up on the floor no more than one hour later, and Sakusa wasn’t that much of a bitch. He wrapped his arms around Atsumu and tugged him closer, to the point when the blond was almost on top of him.

Neither of them commented on that, Atsumu hiding his face in Sakusa’s neck, the shaky inhale he did proving once again that he wasn’t in love with Kita Shinsuke anymore.

  
  
  


_ I envy the cups that kiss her lips when she places them on her mouth to drink. _

  
  
  
  


“Pack your shit, we’re going on a trip,” Sakusa said, bored as always, leaning against his doorframe as if it wasn’t - Atsumu glanced on the clock - five am on Sunday. Cool.

“Are ya fuckin’ insane?” He hissed grumpily, almost closing the door on Sakusa’s face, but the taller male stopped it with his leg, forcing it open and walking closer to Atsumu, bending down a little, so they were eye-to-eye.

“I said, pack your shit, Miya. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Okay. Atsumu was a brat. He knew it, Osamu knew it, everyone he was friends with knew it. Taming him was almost impossible as he always had the urge to yell “make me” at whoever decided to tell him to do anything. Right then, however, noticing how hard Sakusa’s eyes were, not accepting any complaints, he only nodded his head and walked into the room, grabbing his back from the top of the wardrobe.

He asked how many days and what he should take, nodding along at Sakusa’s explanations numbly. He was about to get kidnapped by Sakusa Kiyoomi, and he couldn’t hide the excitement rushing over him.

Kinky.

Soon, when he forced some jeans onto his legs and threw on the first hoodie he was able to grab, Sakusa was tugging him out of the room by his hand. 

Sakusa owned a car. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but it was clean, smelled like citrus, and the seats were comfortable, so Atsumu allowed himself to relax just a bit. The taller male passed him his phone, mumbling something about letting Atsumu pick the music.

For the next couple of minutes, Atsumu was scrolling through Sakusa’s Spotify, trying to find something that would suit both of them. To his surprise, he saw a lot of his favorite songs in Sakusa’s liked music, so he quickly created a line with all of them and let it play out loud, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Yer still not gonna tell me where we’re going, huh?” He asked, just to be sure, and the silence Sakusa gave him was enough of an answer. 

The ride lasted five hours, during which Atsumu came to the conclusion Sakusa was taking him to the north part of Italy. When they finally stopped, and Sakusa rushed him out of the car, he gasped.

Sakusa Kiyoomi took him to fucking Milan.

The hotel room they were staying at was probably expensive as hell, with two big windows allowing them to look at the Milan Cathedral whenever they wanted. The room, however, had just one bed, at which Sakusa smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, I wanted the best view they could have. Gianni’s mother owns the hotel, so we’ve got a discount.”

They didn’t stay long in the hotel room, going out to eat something good as soon as they refreshed themselves. 

Atsumu would never think sightseeing with Sakusa would be this fun, and finally, he allowed himself to reach for his camera and snap a couple of pictures of Sakusa when he wasn’t watching. Sakusa was gorgeous. He thought so long ago, the first time he saw him in front of his door, and all the next time he stood next to him. Yet, right there, with Milan behind his back, Kiyoomi was a  _ different kind  _ of beautiful. 

He wore a fond, little smile on his face, almost invisible for people who didn’t know him. Atsumu noticed, taking in the sight of the curve of his mouth with his eyes and camera, begging his brain to remember it for the rest of his life. He wasn’t scowling for once, letting his face relax, and his eyes were wandering around with curiosity. 

Those were the eyes of a painter, noticing every single beauty even Atsumu was unable to see. Here and there, he softly asked for Atsumu’s camera, snapping photos of things he found worth painting, later on, asking to send him the images later. 

If Atsumu never let anyone else touch his camera, Sakusa didn’t need to know.

They laughed, tried on different things, spent money on stupid shit, none of them needed, and Atsumu felt so free, so good, and happy. He wanted to stay there forever, with Kiyoomi on his side, cracking a bigger smile every fifteen minutes. 

“Ya know Omi,” He started when they were sitting on one of the benches, watching the people around them and the setting sun. “I’m glad ya took me there. Thank ya for everything.” 

Sakusa was watching him, the tips of his ears turning pink. It was an adorable sight, one of those Atsumu would carefully keep in his heart until he was old and unable to spell out his name. Sakusa’s eyes never seemed so clear, so honest and fond, and Atsumu itched to kiss him.

“You know, you’re such a sap sometimes, Miya,” the curly-haired male responded, clearly trying to sound as teasing as usual, but the small crack in his voice gave him away.

Atsumu loved him. He loved the way Kiyoomi washed his hands more than other people. He loved the way Kiyoomi insisted on wearing a mask in closed spaces and would probably wear one outside is Atsumu wasn’t whining about not seeing his face often. He loved the way Sakusa’s hands were always careful with his brushes, the way he seemed so passionate about art, the way his voice didn’t sound bored when he talked about painting. He loved the way Kiyoomi watched him talk with Osamu, the way he got along with Suna when the twins were whining about something stupid. He loved the way Kiyoomi fit into his bed, although he didn’t fit at all, Atsumu didn’t mind. 

“You’re staring at me,” Kiyoomi stated, turning his face away to hide the slight blush adorning his cheeks.

A mere second and Atsumu was raising his camera and snapping a picture, unable to stop himself. 

“Yer beautiful, Kiyoomi.”

He loved the way Sakusa’s name felt on his tongue, like burnt sugar with a spice of rum on it.  _ Kiss him;  _ his mind seemed to yell, and soon the thought of scooping over, holding that jaw in his hands and kissing Kiyoomi was the only thing in his brain, replaying on loop dangerously loud and long. He prayed to gods for something to stop him because he knew if Sakusa said anything, he would just snap. 

_ Turn me down;  _ he begged, desperately wishing he could go back and never say it, watching as Sakusa snapped his head towards him, wide-eyed and with his mouth open, closing it softly a second later. He looked caught off guard, and any other time Atsumu would’ve been so proud of himself. 

“ _ Atsumu,”  _ Kiyoomi started, pleading with his voice, so small and breathless. 

Long ago, there was a universe where Atsumu never imagined himself loving anyone other than Shinsuke. Long ago, Atsumu promised that he would never love someone else, although the promise was left unsaid, kept close in his head for himself only.

Everyone knew he wasn’t good at the promises he didn’t tell Osamu about. 

“If ya don’t stop me, I will fucking kiss ya, Kiyoomi,” he warned, sliding his eyes down the face of the taller male. 

In this universe, Atsumu’s heart was skipping eight beats at once; his hands were so close to Sakusa’s, and everything other than the two of them stopped. 

“I will be so mad if you don’t do it, Miya.”

If falling for Kita all those years before felt natural, kissing Kiyoomi was like something he was doing for ages. He felt like he kissed him before, ten thousand times, yet he still couldn’t get enough. His skin felt soft under his hand, and he let his eyes fall shut, basking at the feeling he longed for so long. 

Kiyoomi’s hands were shaking slightly as he placed them on Atsumu’s shoulders to steady himself, lean in closer, kiss him harder, and lose himself in Atsumu’s presence. 

There were unsaid words none of them dared to open their mouths for. There was the realization their time together was limited, soon Atsumu would have to go back to Japan, go on with his life and forget about the owner of the prettiest black curls he ever saw.

That night in Milan felt like an eternity. He felt right, stumbling into their hotel room, hands roaming over Sakusa’s back. He felt right, pushing Kiyoomi onto the mattress, taking the shirt off of him, and kissing every inch of the flushed skin his lips could reach. It was like reaching to heaven while falling to hell at the same time, spreading Kiyoomi’s thighs, settling between them, watching Kiyoomi arch his back off of the bed. It felt even worse and better when it was him unable to say anything other than Sakusa’s name, eyes rolling into the back of his skull, body shaking with pleasure.

Later that night, he sat on the chair next to the window and smoked a cigarette for the first time in years. He was still naked, a pair of sheets wrapped around his bottom half, a thin layer of sweat covering his itching body. He was sure his hair was a mess, and all the marks he had on his skin made it even worse, yet he felt relaxed, watching Italy with weird fondness in his chest. 

There was a quiet click of the camera he knew too well, and when he turned around, he saw Sakusa, still on the bed, a dreamy look on his face and Atsumu’s camera in his eyes. 

If Enzo, Luca, or Gianni noticed how close they’ve gotten after their trip to Milan, they never said anything about it.

Some words were left unsaid.

  
  
  
  


“Omi has a gig tonight, I actually have to drag my ass there,” he whined, trying to put some eyeliner onto his eyes. He was trying his best to look good, ready to wear the only suit he brought to Italy. He knew how important the exhibition was for Kiyoomi, and he knew how much he was stressing over it. After all, he was one of the stress reliefs Sakusa had. 

“Say hi to your boyfriend from me,” Osamu teased on the other side of the line, making Atsumu roll his eyes.

“He’s not my boyfriend, dumbfuck.” 

After Milan, things escalated quickly. Both of them knew they only had that one year with each other, and they decided to use it to the maximum. There were dates, never officially called dates. There were kissing and hand-holding, bitting their pillows to stop the moans and marks they showed off the mornings after. 

Yet, when anyone asked, they weren’t together. 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night. If ya won’t hurry up, ya will get late,” Osamu warned him, voice just a tiny bit fonder. 

“Right, I’ll talk to ya later. Bye!”

  
  
  


The whole place the exhibition was at was fucking packed. The second he walked in, he immediately started worrying about how Sakusa was locked in a place filled with this many strangers. He tried to fish his lover out of the sea of strangers, searching for a glimpse of the familiar mop of curls. He sighed with resignation and decided just to walk around, look at the art, and try to find Sakusa’s section as fat as he was able to. 

The painting department was truly amazing. He knew most of the artists (honestly, just because of Enzo and Sakusa), admiring the art with a glass of champagne in his hand. Most of the artists held one theme over all of their paintings; each piece chose carefully to match the others. 

He greeted his friends, walked around, chatted with some people, asked about directions to  _ Sakusa.  _

When he saw the first canvas, a little further to the back, he couldn’t help but smile.

He would recognize Sakusa’a art with his eyes closed without looking at the signature in the bottom left corner. He knew Sakusa’s strokes like the back of his hand, and for once that evening, he allowed himself to stand still for longer, observe the piece and  _ think. _

Sakusa refused to show him the pieces up until the gig, mumbling something about the element of the surprise. There were a bunch of portraits made with incredible precision to the point they looked like pictures. There were landscapes, a fond smile on Atsumu’s mouth at the sight of Milan, one of the photos he took for Sakusa that day. 

He walked down the hall, basking in Sakusa’s art, proudness filling every inch of him until he reached the very end of Sakusa’s part with the biggest canvas Sakusa used. 

He felt his heart stop for a second, then rush up again, the blood getting warmer inside him. The inhale he took was harsh, leaving him dizzy as he stared at the most crucial piece of Sakusa’s exhibition.

He was met with the sight of himself that night in Milan, sitting wrapped in sheets on a chair, a cigarette between his fingers, fond smile on his lips. He looked beautiful like that, and as he watched every little detail of the room, Milan and himself, he could almost feel the cigarette smoke, the sweat, and burned sugar Kiyoomi reminded him of.

There was something in that painting that made other people stop too. There was  _ something,  _ something in the way the piece was created that made Atsumu want to find Kiyoomi and kiss him breathless, yell those three words lingering in his head for ages and let himself go. 

“ _ Isn’t it the man from the painting?”  _ Someone whispered beside him, and he wanted to say that yes, he was the man Kiyoomi had sex with that night and every other night they shared. He was the one Sakusa painted without him knowing; he was the one that allowed himself to collide into the taller male and fall in love without thinking.

“Miya,” He heard behind him, that voice he loved for all these months, that voice he would love for so much longer. When he turned around, Sakusa was standing there, gorgeous as ever, a little anxious from the way his shoulders were tense. He was wearing a white shirt, buttoned up to the collar, but the sleeves were long rolled to his elbows, exposing the veins on his hands. For once, he didn’t have a mask, which he was probably forced to do, but Atsumu appreciated the effort. 

He saw in his eyes how nervous Kiyoomi was, and his heart melted. Never in his life, Miya Atsumu was this soft, letting his lips break into an easy smile, take a step closer to Kiyoomi and look up at him, his hand reaching softly to touch Kiyoomi’s fingers. 

“Will it be alright if I kiss ya right now?” He asked quietly, just for Kiyoomi to hear. Atsumu felt like he won life from the way Kiyoomi’s cheeks flushed slightly, and the curly-haired male nodded his head softly.

Then, he took another step closer, brought the free hand up placing it on the side of Sakusa’s face, looking into his eyes with – what he hoped was the fondest expression he was able to have. 

Some people stopped around them to look and whisper, the others simply decided to mind their business, but Atsumu found himself not caring. His heart was beating fast, his lips were at Kiyoomi’s, and his neck was slowly starting to hurt from reaching up.

It was worth it. Kiyoomi was worth it.

“Do you like it?” The taller male asked when Atsumu turned around, shyly circling his arms around Atsumu’s waist. They were looking at  _ that  _ piece, Atsumu’s heart still beating fast in his chest. He nodded quickly, biting his bottom lip to hide the smile that threatened to blossom on his lips.

_ From the base of her neck to the arch of her eyelids, her beauty made a slave of me.  _

  
  


“My parents are coming here for Christmas,” Sakusa said quietly, fingers playing with Atsumu’s hand. They promised each other long ago they won’t cry, so Enzo, Luca, and Gianni were sobbing for them too. 

“Guess we will have to wait a little longer, huh?” Atsumu didn’t wear a smile on his lips. He wasn’t trying to joke around and escape like when he was leaving Japan. He allowed the sadness to reflect on his face; he allowed the tears to threaten to spill from his eyes. 

“I mean, if you’re willing to wait for me,” There was a crack in Sakusa’s voice, and then he was tipping his head back and sniffling, trying not to cry. There was beauty in that sad picture, the longing they already felt, even while standing just an inch away from each other.

“Of course, I will wait for ya. Always, Kiyoomi, ya hear me? So, don’t go around and fall for someone else, okay?” 

Sakusa laughed weakly, bending down a little to place one last kiss on his lips. 

“Let me know when you arrive, okay?”

There was a nod, a squeeze of their hands, a soft “bye” whispered for them to hear, one tear spilling from Sakusa’s eye and then Atsumu was turning around and walking, until he passed the gate and turned around without thinking, bringing his to his mouth.

“Hey, Omi!” He started yelling, heart beating against his chest. “I love you!”

Before he turned around again, he could notice Sakusa breaking down completely, hiding his face in his hands, shoulders shaking from the sobs. 

His flight was called one more time.

  
  
  
  


Osamu, Suna, Aran, and Kita were all waiting for him at the airport back in Tokyo. He was exhausted, heartbroken, and jet-lagged as he hugged Aran, Kita, and even Suna, before dropping into Osamu’s eyes without a word.

“Yer good there?” Osamu asked, voice filled with concern. Atsumu wasn’t okay. He wished he could hop onto the fucking plane again and go back to Kiyoomi, where his heart was. 

“Just peachy Samu. Can we go  _ home? _ ” He pleaded, cringing at his own words. His home was back in Italy, crying after his ugly and stupid confession. God, what he had done.

Before anyone could ask or say anything, he was taking his phone out and dialing Sakusa’s number, pressing the phone to his ear, and biting his lip anxiously. 

“Atsumu?” He sounded tired and so small. God, his eyes were filled with tears again, and his throat was tight.

“ _ I landed, Kiyoomi.”  _ He said in Italian, mostly to avoid the awkward questions from his friends and his twin. 

“ _ Oh, okay. Say hi to Samu from me. Is Kita there?”  _

_ “Yeah, he is. Omi, I wasn’t joking, you know? I love you. Sorry for saying it like that.”  _ They were now walking out of the airport, all of them staying quiet to let him talk. Osamu passed him a tissue, and only then he realized he was crying. 

“ _ You’re so dumb; I hate you. You’re not supposed to confess like that, you moron.”  _ His voice was fond, so soft and so small, and Atsumu had to bite his hand to stop a sob. “ _ I love you too, Miya. Don’t get over me, okay?” _

_ “I said I would wait for you, Kiyoomi.” _

None of them asked when he cried in the car, clenching his phone in his hand tightly. 

  
  
  


“Atsumu-san,” A girl called out after the graduation ceremony making him stop with a roll of his eyes. “Would you go out with me? We can grab a coffee and hang out… If you want.”

Atsumu  _ didn’t  _ want to. He was busy, he had shit to do, and the photos of a certain tall guy with curly hair were still in his wallet. 

“Listen, I don’t even know yer name. Ya should probably get over me, sweetheart.”

He didn’t give her time to ask more. He walked out of the building, hopped into Osamu’s car, and rechecked his phone. 

He was done with college. He officially graduated; his diploma somewhere at the back of the car. Osamu was drumming his fingers against his lap, smirking at him, but he only waved his hand at him, rushing him to drive away finally. 

A couple of minutes later, his phone vibrated in his hand, and he quickly checked the message.

_ I’ve landed already :) _

“Can ya like, speed up or something? He’s here already,” He mumbled at Osamu, biting his lip down. 

“I’m fucking trying, shut the fuck up. Tell him to wait.”

It took them ten minutes to finally arrive at the airport. Atsumu was jumping out of the car as soon as they parked, running towards the entrance without thinking.

There he was, in all of his glory, with a mask covering his face, still dressed all in black, those black curls a little longer than Atsumu remembered. He held a phone in one of his hands, the other playing with his suitcase awkwardly. He was adorable, gorgeous, and everything Atsumu wanted.

“Kiyoomi,” He called softly, stopping for a second before he rushed over, repeating that name again, louder and clearer for Sakusa to hear. 

He saw the way Kiyoomi snapped his head up, eyes wide and so soft.

Then, they were running to each other with their arms open, colliding into each other. It felt so  _ right  _ to have Kiyoomi’s arms around himself again. It felt  _ so right  _ to touch those curls and tug Sakusa down slightly, so right to kiss him again.

Atsumu was melting. His whole body was burning, aching to be closer to Kiyoomi. Closer to the man he loved and missed with his entire existence. 

“Take me home, Atsumu.”

He would. 

He held Sakusa’s hand, tugging him towards Osamu’s car. He threw the suitcase into the car and then sat next to Sakusa, stopping every five seconds to kiss him again. “Stop being gross,” Osamu hissed at them, yet there was a smile on his lips.

With Kiyoomi right next to him, holding his hand tightly and smiling fondly under his nose, Atsumu never felt happier. 

“Hey, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi whispered, those pretty eyes watching him carefully. He hummed, letting the other know he was listening, and then Kiyoomi was leaning over, lips next to his ear. 

“ _ I love you.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
